


Invasive Questions and Chest Wounds

by Kuronrko98



Series: Lady and the Tramp [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Telekinesis, invasive questions, talking about fucking, there's a hole in alyssa's chest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: Alyssa doesn't ride in the Impala often, and this is exactly why.





	Invasive Questions and Chest Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this damn fucking ficlet for FOUR YEARS

There’s a reason I don’t normally ride in the Impala with Mickey and the Winchesters.

I have to make exceptions, of course, when I’m too beat up to move, let alone travel on my own. We just came out of the biggest hunt I’ve ever been on with them. Long story short, there’s a huge hole in my chest from a werewolf going for its meal of choice. That was fun. I mostly just want to be comatose until it heals away, but it’s good to be awake around these idiots rather than asleep.

“That’s gotta feel pretty bad,” Sam calls from the front. “You sure you don’t want one of us to look at it?” I shrug, wincing at the movement.

“I’m fine.” I wink at Mickey next to me, “Looks like _you’ll_ need to be gentle with  _me_ for a while.”

Dean glances back with a frown. “Don’t,” he mutters. I giggle, waggling my eyebrows at him. He shakes his head in disgust. “If you weren’t a demon, you’d be dead.”

“There’s nothing like being dead to keep you alive.”

The next 20 minutes of the drive are kept in semi-silence. Dean’s music is more than loud enough to fill any awkwardness that could have been there. Eventually, the sound is shut off and the older Winchester brother speaks.

“How do you figure your shit out anyway?” he asks, “Do you hate each other or not?”

I continue staring out the window, stillness is my weapon against the gross pain. I barely hear Mickey respond with, “We hate each other Monday through Friday, 9-5.”

He hesitates a beat.

“How does it work, the sex between you?” Dean sounds really fucking stressed out just asking, and I immediately give the conversation my full attention. I turn away from the window and lean forward with a painful grunt.

“If you don’t know that already, I sincerely hope that you aren’t having sex with any girls.” I murmur in Dean’s ear Before he can splutter out a retort, I continue. “Listen, mouths are fucking useful for something other than sucking dick, Princess.” Both Sam and Mickey snicker, and I lean back into the seat. “You’re lucky I’m too busy being mortally wounded to put you through the details.”

Mickey clears her throat and I look over to see her giving me a pointed look that clearly states ‘do it’. I shake my head and continue staring outside the window. Dean neglects to turn his music back on, and the silence is terribly heavy. I’m too tired for this shit. It takes probably 5 minutes for me to get fed up.

“Have you ever even given someone with a clit head?”

He shrugs with a scoff, “What? No.” There’s an audible gasp of shame from Mickey, and Sam gives Dean a surprised look. “ _What?”_

I roll my eyes, “You’re probably the only one in here that hasn’t done cunnilingus. Which, since that’s sounds gross, we’ll call it eating pussy. Without it, you will never give a woman an orgasm.”

“Hey, every-”

“They all faked it,” I interrupt. “I can guarantee it. Unless you are incredibly good, penetrative sex is _not_ going to cut it. I doubt you’re that good sober, let alone drunk. When was the last time you were sober, by the way? Do you remember what it’s like?”

Mickey coughs, and I nod an apology.

“Sorry, darling, I’m a little short-tempered right now. Anyway, since you asked, I will go through every agonizing detail of,” I gasp theatrically, “lesbian sex.”

Mickey stifles a laugh, and Sam has taken to staring out the window with a suspiciously neutral expression. Dean’s face is set into a very deep, very regretful, frown. Perfect.

“First, girl #1 meets girl #2. They get dinner, have a drink, coffee!, maybe. Then, they go back to the cheap motel that girl #1 couldn’t talk her brothers out of.” I wink at girl #1 with a grin. “They both beg for the brothers to leave, which almost always works. No one wants to be confined to one room during sex, that’s no fun.”

“Girl #1 slowly, sensually peels girl #2’s clothes off. Girl #2 replies by doing the same, though much rougher. You might wonder why #1 is so mad at #2 for what seems like no reason and why #1 is always buying new clothes. Though, you would think that #1 would agree that some things can be sacrificed for great sex and that I- I mean, #2, has plenty enough money to pay for new clothes.”

I huff, slightly put out, and wince at the jolting pain it sends through me. I think I’m off topic. Chest wounds will do that.

“Fuck, that hurt. Where was I?” I pause for an instant before my narrative comes back. “Okay, so the clothes are gone. One of them is probably on a bed or desk or something similar. The other is—babe, choose your own adventure. Sweet or spicy?”

Dean stares at the road ahead, and I take my moment of rest to visually peel his chest open. Yes, irritated, storming streaks of red and orange ferment in his soul. I let the image snap back beneath the surface, pleased with the results.

My scattered thoughts line themselves up again when Mickey laces her fingers with mine. Right, I’m telling a story. If I’m gonna annoy the hell out of Dean I’m gonna have to _commit_.

“Sweet,” she prompts.

“Perfect.” I lift our our hands to plant a soft kiss on the back of hers. Then I lean my head back and close my eyes. “Time to get _tender_. The other girl, the one not pressed against the bed, the wall, the counter, etcetera, gives the gentlest of kisses and says the sweetest things. Whispered in the first’s ears—”

I, drama/demon queen of the millennium, push through my weariness to ghost a soft sigh of magical energy through Mickey’s hair next her her ear. Her hand squeezes mine.

“Against her neck—”

I trace down her throat—

“In the wells of her collarbone—”  

“That’s enough!”

I jolt, and this time the sound I make at the shock of pain is downright pitiful. When I open my eyes to settle a glare on Dean, I find both Mickey and Sam watching me with more worry than I care for. Before either of them can say anything, Dean continues.

“Forget I asked, just—” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel nervously, then turns the music back on. “I don’t want to know.”

“Shouldn’t have asked, then,” I mutter.

“Thank god,” Sam breathes, a good amount of tension leaving his shoulders. He twists around in his seat to look back at me. “You sure you don’t want someone to look at that?”

I glance down to find blood oozing from my chest again. I guess talking with an open chest wound probably wasn’t the best idea. I shudder a sigh and nod. I guess it can’t be helped.

Without any hesitation, Mickey unbuckles her seatbelt and scoots closer.

“What. Babe, no, that’s not safe,” I whine.

“You have a literal hole in your chest,” she says in a painfully ‘are you an idiot’ kind of way. “That’s not safe either.”

We go back and forth about it, but in the end I let her do her first aid thing on me. It won’t make it hurt less, it certainly won’t make me heal faster, but I let her do it. I know it makes her feel better to know I’m well, and I’ve never been good at saying no to her.


End file.
